Trapped In
by Xia Momo Capernicus
Summary: McGee feels trapped in his mind. Can he fix it himself? Will his teammates step to his rescue? Or will he just become another lost soul? Suicidal Tendancies, Self-Mutilation. On hiatus.
1. Light

Hey guys

**Hey guys! I just got inspired to do an angst fic. It might become Tim/Tony, I'm not sure yet. Since this is my first NCIS fic, I don't believe any of you will have read my style before (or at least, the chances are slim). I must warn you that even if it is a very depressing, dramatic story, I will still have humour in it. I also switch from first person to third… and a bit of second. I do denote the changes though, so it shouldn't be too confusing. I also keep it consistent with each character; Abby will stay in third the entire story, for example. I just don't like writing her in the first; it sounds weird.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS. If I did, Tony and McGee would so be together.**

Chapter one

ABBY POV

The sunbeam practically hit her face like a sledgehammer. Abby bolted upright with narrowed eyes, a predatory manner denoting her search for a culprit. However, in the land of wakefulness, light cannot hit you, and so she realized she was being illogical. She wanted a Caf-POW! to rid the remnants of slumber, but decided that the POW! bit would remind her too much of her traumatic waking. So she made do with a thermos of cocoa (incredibly viscous, of course).

The drive was mostly uneventful. Abby soon arrived at her favourite place, without even having to speed as her fellow coworkers did (Ziva). She bounced merrily in, because well, how could one be unhappy with loads of sugar and being in the same vicinity as one as great as Leroy Jethro Gibbs?

Although, Gibbs wasn't in her lab at the moment. She would see him later though, even if there wasn't a case she would make an excuse. She needed her Gibbs intake! But perhaps seeing Gibbs today wouldn't be such a bad thing. The young Goth's day was going so great already.

Only it would be better if McGee had hung out with her on the weekend. Not being one to pry, she didn't search his apartment, but she did call approximately 14 times at home, and 37 times on his cell. Why did stupid McGee turn his phone off? There were only so many messages his voicemail box could hold! Well, she'd lecture him today sometime; right now she had work to do.

She cranked the tunes and swayed away.

TONY POV

Dammit, where was probie? He was half an hour late, which is really unusual. I mean, I don't think his sister was accused of killing anyone lately; I could be wrong. She was pretty hot for someone related to McGeek. Maybe she's adopted. Then I could go out with her and probie couldn't do anything… wait, maybe being adopted counts. I guess I should ask Abby if they are related. Abby's got a really hot tattoo. It's this girl twined around a pole and-

WHACK. "Dinozzo!"

"Ow Boss, what was that for?" I whined, rubbing the back of my head. Well, it wasn't really a whine. It was a manly complaining…ness. Ha, McGrammer can't correct my English because he can't get in my head!

"That was for thinking dirty thoughts. You're at work Dinozzo, you should know better." Though I must say, Gibbs comes so close to mind-reading, it's scary.

"How do you do that Boss?" I asked in awe. He grinned a little, but it faded instantly when he looked at Probie's empty desk.

"Where's McGee?" he asked. Though he sounded commanding, like it was only his job to make sure everyone was there on time to do their job, I knew he was worried. Sometimes, I think my teammates forget that underneath that tough marine mask lies a compassionate and empathetic person; who'll kick your ass if you mess with the people he cares about.

"I actually was thinking the same thing myself. It's unusual for Probalicious to be even a minute late."

"For whom to be late?" Asked a slightly Israeli accented voice. "I was not aware of someone on our team with that name." A slight smirk graced the features of one Ziva David, the craziest woman I have ever met. Besides McGirl.

I grin. "Unlike some people, who show up three hours late… after lunch!"

She scowled. "You know full well I had a meeting Tony. And you did not answer my question." She looked over at the person-less desk. "Where… oh I see, you were referring to McGee! Why did you not say so?" The expression on her face was quite accusatory.

"Why Zee-vah, I did mention Probie… just it was a nickname. I've only altered it like, a hundred times before for you to get it."

A roll of eyes. "Yes Tony, anything with any part of the word "delicious" in it could refer to McGee." Something dawned on her, and she smiled suggestively. "Well, Tony, do you think McGee is-"

"Don't finish that sentence Ziva." Gibbs grimaced. "Look, just tell me where the hell he is."

"Dunno Boss. Maybe he went to an MMORPG convention." I chuckled at my cleverness.

"Ziva, you got an intelligent answer?"

"To be fair Gibbs, that actually was a reasonable response. After all, he does seem to have an unhealthy obsession with computer games." She acquiesced under his gaze. "Perhaps we could simply call him and ask?" and again "Or I could actually do that." She whipped out her cell phone and hit speed dial.

"Oh yeah, you might want to check your email Boss. He might have even told you he had a dentist appointment or something, completely ignoring the fact that you're technologically illiterate- I mean, um…"

Luckily Ziva saved me. "It's going straight to voicemail. He must have it turned off."

We all frowned collectively. "He's practically got wires coming out of him he's so connected to electronics." I state slowly. "Why would he turn it off?"

Gibbs picked up the phone and punched some numbers. He perked up, than held the phone away from his ear and winced. The innocent phone was then forcibly placed back on its cradle. I felt for Gibb's electronics; they suffered at his uncaring hands.

Oh my god, my worry for McGee is turning me into some sort of weirdo nerd.

"That was McGee's sister. She's in class and perfectly fine." He absently rubbed his damaged ear.

"Hence the sound bite. Alright, I guess we should put out a BOLO." Gibbs nodded assent.

"Do it." I ignored Ziva's indignant hissed rant at the other end of the squad room. She couldn't complain we didn't worry if she didn't show up; if we did, we'd all be walking mental cases, since she does it almost every day. Probster was a different story.

The BOLO out, all we could do was wait, gazing at the light streaming in through the windows.

MCGEE POV 

_can't get a hold of the leads that I need  
there is no end to the streets I'm on my knees  
and I wish some day things will get better  
I've been trapped in this black hole for too long  
can't understand a word of what you say  
I never bother to listen anyway  
and I know some day things will get better  
I've been trapped in this black hole for too long  
trapped in I've been trapped in I'm furious over the state I'm in_

I can't really bob my head to this music, but I listen intently. It's a song that I heard when I was at one of Abby's friend's parties. I don't usually listen to punk, but I really liked it. I can really relate to the song.

_Can't get a hold of the leads that I need_

I don't think the song is talking about working a case, but lately I feel like I can't do anything right. All the leads I follow end up dead, if I even find any to begin with. If Gibbs asks me what my problem is one more time, I'm gonna go crazy(er).

_  
There is no end to the streets I'm on my knees_

I think I passed knees and went straight to crawling a while ago. I barely make it through each day.

_  
And I wish some day things will get better_

All I can do is wish. I keep hoping someone will see that I'm hurting so bad. Or that these feelings of despair will dissipate and I can live again.

_  
I've been trapped in this black hole for too long_

It's been a year. My whole life I've felt like this at points, but never this bad; never perpetually.

_  
Can't understand a word of what you say_

I don't get how everyone can be so happy when I'm so miserable. Can't they see how bad life is?

_  
I never bother to listen anyway_

You don't notice; it's kind of funny how I can tune out and you just keep blabbing like life matters.

_  
And I know some day things will get better_

Exactly. Things can't be like this forever. I'd kill myself before long, and that won't happen.

_  
I've been trapped in this black hole for too long_

I feel so helpless… like some cosmic power has a bear trap of pain around my soul. It tightly clamps down and destroys my happiness, and rips my core to shreds. I cannot fight like this.

_  
Trapped in I've been trapped in I'm furious over the state I'm in_

The rare occasions I do feel something other than pain and nothing are when I'm angry. I think it's ironic that the song is talking about a state of being, while I'm actually angry at myself for crossing the border three states away. I shouldn't run. I shouldn't turn back on my job, or my friends. But I want to handle this myself. They all treat me like some little kid, and if I tell them, it will only get worse. Maybe by overcoming this myself, I can prove my mettle.

I can only hope it doesn't kill me.

END CHAPTER 1

**Heh… that was kind of disjointed. Sorry guys, that's what reading Salman Rushdie does to you. The song was "Trapped In" by Division of Laura Lee. Funnily enough, I just listened to it today for content, and I realized it would be a perfect, non cliché song for this fic. If you listen to it, you will get a better feel for the story.**

**If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask. I know this is kind of confusing, but it will make more sense in later chapters.**

**Have a great day everyone!**

**Xia.**


	2. Going Nowhere

Title: Going Nowhere

Word count: 1663

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: OT

Characters: McGee

A/N: It has been ages since I've updated this story, and I do apologize. I took a bit of a detour on the road of life. I am posting this chapter for now, but I will be heavily editing my first chapter fairly soon, because wow, is it awful. Congrats if you're still interested in this story, and I hope you like this chapter!

Chapter 2

_I carefully, almost lovingly withdraw the razor from its snug home in my kit. Yeah, a razor is sort of cliché, but I am a romantic at heart. I'm not sure what the poetic allure of this particular instrument is. Only that the sight of one calms me in a way I can't justify. I don't have much for a ritual, just that moment paused, anticipation building. It used to be that there was so much time between cuts, I'd forget the feeling and with the ignorance came fear._

_But then the blade teases my skin lightly, before deepening into a full kiss of shame. Blood doesn't spurt out like in the movies. It's actually like drawing a line in sand near the water. It looks wet, but takes a few seconds to fill. Beads of blood form on the line, connected by faint lines of blood. On my wrist, it would almost look like a bracelet. But I'm smart enough to do it on my legs and stomach where it's easy to hide, so it just looks as it is: a line in the sand._

"_McGee?" My pulse quickens. I'm amazed blood doesn't pour more rapidly from the small wound. "You in here?"_

"_Yeah Tony. I'll be right out."_

"_Okay. Just holler if you fall in." He chuckled as he exited the bathroom, oblivious to the irony of this words. I had fallen in, into the red eddies of swirling blood that lapped hungrily at the shores of my mind, threatening a tsunami of insanity. _

_I would never 'holler' for assistance. If I was the sort of person who asked for help, I would have never gotten to the point where I am now. Overwhelmed by the chaos of crime, hiding like a criminal in the bathroom at NCIS, carving my flesh into neat order. _

_With a cynical laugh I wipe away the sticky blood, careful not to scrub hard enough to start the blood flow again. As much as I craved it, I had to pull myself away from my coping mechanism, so I could get on with 'living.' As if barely surviving was living. I rummage around in my kit for the right bandage, deciding on a rectangular elbow pad. I've tried almost all the brands of bandages, and the fabric/elastic ones are the best. Plastic should be taken off the market. I rip open the package and peel away the paper with practiced ease, carefully smoothing the brown sticker over the array of cuts. It doesn't fit perfectly, but it will be enough._

_I learned long ago to be satisfied with enough._

_I am sad to see the wound safely sealed away. Would that all the wounds that life inflicts on our psyches could be locked away with simple fabric and elastic._

I turned off the TV. It wasn't like I was focusing on the screen anyway. No, I was imagining the beautiful edge of a blade, the perfect moment when it slipped into my skin. The hotel room felt darker without the light of the TV, was too quiet without the inane chatter of whatever characters were filling the screen. That was alright though. I didn't want to feel connected to the world. That was the beauty and vice of technology; it made us closer to others, but it was addicting too. Or it was for me, for a long time. I didn't go anywhere without my cell phone, couldn't go a night without playing on my favourite MMO. But my phone had been off for days, and I had been inside for that long too. I'd barely ate anything, save for the gas station snacks I'd picked up on the way into town.

Hunger was gnawing at my belly though, breaking through the fog of desire, longing for pain. I sighed, setting the remote on the table beside me and getting to my feet. I didn't have that much energy, but I knew that I needed food.

I glanced at myself in the mirror as I grabbed my car keys and wallet, noting how my clothes were wrinkled and slept in, and how my hair was in complete disarray. I couldn't help but smile though; my clothes finally reflected out I felt inside. No need to smooth back my hair, no need to press crisp folds into suits. No need to put on a show for anyone. I knew I looked like crap, but I didn't care, and that almost felt good. There's no fear when you hit rock bottom. You have no further to fall. There's a certain peace about it.

I still wanted to cut as I walked out, blinking at the bright sun. I hadn't looked at the time; my internal clock was completely off. I locked my hotel door manually with a key. Had I been feeling 'normal,' the geek in me would have been surprised that they didn't have the fancy, electronic locks that almost all hotels had now. But this place was a dive, so there was nothing to be surprised about. My mind was a dive too; there was nothing that surprised me, that could shock me into life like some abstract defibrillator.

I realised when I got to my car that I didn't feel like driving at all. I began to walk, digging out my iPod, a pained smile tugging at my lips when I remembered that Abby had bought it for me. I slipped in the earphones, the plastic a comforting shield from the world.

The gas station was only a few blocks up the road. I grabbed all sorts of unhealthy food, knowing that I was breaking my diet. What did it matter? There was no one around here that knew me, and I didn't think myself worth knowing. I handed the cashier cash to pay, even in my state smart enough not to use my debit or credit. I knew the team would be trying to find me.

I hadn't thought much about them in the past few days. I'd thought about my job, how qualified I was, if I was going to be fired for this, but I hadn't been thinking so much about how this was affecting them. I hadn't this past while either; I'd been too focused on cutting. Where to cut, how often, and most importantly how to hide it from them. They'd become enemies, people which I had to dance around, lie to, manipulate. They were not friends or colleagues, just people who existed in my life who had the power to bring it crashing around me if I slipped even once. I could not say that I cared about them, but I also could not say that I felt much of anything at all. I felt elation when the blade met my skin. I felt sick shame when I thought of other people finding out about my secret. I felt a small measure of guilt for not letting my baby sister know where I was. But even she was an enemy too, too damn intelligent to have in my life.

I was happy to return to the sanctity of my room. It smelled like loneliness and cheap air freshener. I tossed my food in the kitchenette, moving to the bathroom. If I was starting to think about my emotions, then it was time to cut. My chest was tightening painfully as I thought of my team dropping everything to find me, my sister staying with friends while they tried to console her.

I opened the tin I used to store my blade, carefully lifting it out with reverence. I set it on the counter and pulled down my pants, folding them over the toilet. I sat down on a towel by the toilet, shivering as my skin met the cold tile. I then reached up and took my blade, eyeing my legs. I still couldn't bring myself to cut my arms, part of me expecting that I would still have a shot at my career when I got back. I contemplated the array of scars, old white and new red. I found the right spot, taking a deep breath and slicing in. The relief was immediate, chest loosening. I almost smiled as I could breath, adding another cut along the first. There was a joy in the precision, a satisfaction in the neat rows of lines, the railroad tracks which I'd so artfully done. This was something I could do right. In the moment that existed when the blade touched down until it lifted again, I knew perfection. It existed in the red line between two points, the memory of something good to hold onto.

I continued until it didn't hurt to think about my team. About Abby's normally smiling face marred by tears. About Tony's usual exuberance dulled. About Gibbs becoming more and more volatile. About Ziva lashing out at everyone.

I cut it all out, stopping only when I realised that I was cold, and I was hungry. I dabbed at my wounds with tissue, waiting for the bleeding to stop. When I stood my leg stung, the ache reaching down to my feet. I smiled in satisfaction, the constant sting meaning I wouldn't have to cut again for a while.

I cleaned up, replacing the razor to it's home in the tin. I gingerly walked from the bathroom, finding a clean pair of black sweat pants to pull on. The fabric rubbed against the wounds, chafed, but I didn't mind. It hid what I had done, and I could endure the sting for that. I grabbed a bag of chips and sat down again in front of the TV, finding myself wanting that connection again. The blade gave me pleasure and what I desired, but it was a lonely existence with her as my mistress.

I flicked the TV on, watching characters fill the screen, soothed by their inane chatter, and the pleasant burn of fresh wounds.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading. There will be more action in the next chapter.


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